athene (deinonychus_1) wrote,

fanfic: Functional or Decorative?

Well, this is my contribution to combat!kink month. Sorry I'm late to the combat!kink party, it just took a while because I'm still rather iffy about writing anything even vaguely smutty. Onwards, to combat gear and thigh straps...

Title: Functional or Decorative?

Author: Athene

Fandom: Primeval

Paring/characters: Connor/Stephen

Rating: 18

Warnings: slash

Spoilers: none

Disclaimer: Not mine. ITV and Impossible Pictures own them.

Word count: approx 1500



“It doesn’t fit,” Connor complained.

            He was right, it didn’t fit in the slightest. Stephen suspected he perhaps shouldn’t say this out loud, though, and tried to keep a straight face as he said, “It looks okay.”

            “It’s too big,” Connor said in voice that was now just a shade away from petulant. “Why didn’t they have any smaller ones?”

            “You’re the one who fell into the lake. If you want a change of clothing that actually fits, why don’t you go home?”

            “I didn’t fall in on purpose. I was chasing the iguanodon. Besides, I might miss something important if I go home.” Connor looked vaguely indignant at the suggestion.

            “Well then, just deal with the fact that Special Forces combat gear doesn’t come in your size, and get on with it.”

            Connor continued to grumble quietly to himself, and Stephen tried very hard not to let the amused smile he was feeling show on his face. Most of Connor’s original clothing now lay in a soggy heap behind one of the vehicles, as did a pile of discarded black combat gear that had been even more ill-fitting than this one.

Stephen glanced over at the anomaly, where Nick and the others were still trying to manoeuvre the iguanodon back to its proper time. He suspected he should be over there helping. Once he had helped to manhandle the box of gear out of the Special Forces’ van, this really didn’t need more than one person. After all, Connor was perfectly capable of getting dressed by himself. Curiously, though, Stephen didn’t feel the least bit inclined to leave him to it.

             “Does this look okay?”

            Stephen looked the younger man up and down. The trousers were too long and baggy, the jacket was too big and the sleeves came down almost over Connor’s hands. Somehow he had managed to find boots that were the right size, which only helped to emphasise how ridiculous the rest of it was. Connor looked… Stephen realised with some surprise that the word he was looking for was ‘adorable’. He decided he probably shouldn’t say this out loud, either.

            “It looks fine,” Stephen said for about the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes.

            Connor hitched the trousers up. As soon as he let go they hung somewhere around his hips again. Which would have been fine if they had in any way been designed as hipsters.

            “That might have been more convincing if you weren’t so obviously trying not to laugh,” Connor pointed out. He sat down on the edge of the box that the gear had come out of. “It’s alright for you. You make this kind of thing look good.”

            Stephen wasn’t entirely certain whether to take that as a compliment or not, so sidestepped the issue.

            “It’s not supposed to look good. It’s supposed to be functional. Although, granted, the two don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” It occurred to him that he perhaps ought to be more helpful. “Is there a belt or something in there?”

            Connor poked around in the box, but didn’t seem to find anything and gave up. Stephen took over the search while Connor examined what he was wearing a little closer.  

            “What’re these?”

            Stephen glanced up to see what Connor was talking about. “I think it’s the strap they use to attach extra pockets, torches, that kind of thing. Or the thigh holsters that some of them wear.”

            “Thigh holsters can’t be ‘functional’, surely? It’s got to be harder to draw a gun from there than from the hip.”

            “Depends how many guns you’ve already got attached to your belt. There’s always room for more guns.” Stephen was trying very hard to stop himself imagining Connor as Neo in the Matrix lobby-scene with all the guns in the world strapped to his body. Which, rather disturbingly, gave him an idea.

            “Stand up.”

            “Why?” Connor’s tone of voice suggested he didn’t trust whatever it was that Stephen was planning in the slightest. Nevertheless, he stood up.

            “Hitch the trousers up again.”

            Connor still didn’t look entirely convinced, but obeyed.

            Stephen knelt in front of him, and adjusted one of the thigh straps round Connor’s leg. He pulled it tight, and then started on the other side.

“That should keep it up better.”

            It was a moment before Stephen realised what he had said, and another moment before he decided it was possibly not the best thing he could have said while he was kneeling in front of him with his hands fiddling around Connor’s inside thigh. Stephen noticed that Connor had abruptly become very still, and his expression suggested that he was trying very hard not to think about where Stephen’s hands were, either.

             And speaking of keeping things up, Stephen noticed that the trousers were not quite baggy enough to disguise Connor’s reaction. He was glad that Connor was very definitely not looking at him, because that meant he wouldn’t see the entirely wicked smile that Stephen could feel spreading across his face.

            He deliberately took his time adjusting the second strap, letting his fingers wander in a way that might have been to do with straightening the trouser leg. Although they both knew it wasn’t. Connor was still holding the trousers up around his waist, and tried to surreptitiously give himself more slack at the front. When Stephen’s finger trailed all the way up Connor couldn’t hide the sudden gasp.

            “Stephen.” It sounded vaguely like a protest, but not a very convincing one.

He realised Connor was glancing distractedly over at where the others were. Stephen wasn’t overly concerned. Even from here he could hear the yelling and the bellowing of the iguanodon. It sounded like they were going to be busy for a while. He slid his hands up and under the too-baggy t-shirt, and explored Connor’s chest.

            He was still wet, and freezing cold from the lake. Stephen smiled again. That was something he decided he ought to rectify. After all, they didn’t want Connor to get hypothermia or anything.

            He pulled Connor entirely behind the cover of the van, and pushed him back against it. Connor managed a startled squeak as Stephen stood up, his hands still playing under the t-shirt. He found a nipple and rubbed it, and the squeak abruptly became a satisfying moan. The other hand slid down, and batted Connor’s hands away from the trousers he was still trying to hold up. After that it was so very easy to slide his hand down the front of the pants without even needing to undo the zip. Connor’s head fell back against the van and he closed his eyes, moaning softly. Apparently he wasn’t interested in protesting any more.

Stephen ran his hand up and down Connor’s cock, at the same time nudging the jacket aside and sliding the t-shirt up and out of the way. He replaced his fingers with teeth and kisses and hot breath against the now rapidly warming chest. Connor gasped and whimpered something that sounded like it was caught between a swear word and a begging noise. His hands somehow found their way around the back of Stephen’s neck, not guiding, but very definitely not letting his mouth pull away from what it was doing. That was all the encouragement Stephen needed to let his now free hand explore around the younger man’s waist and down to his hip. There was slack in the trousers, but not that much slack, and suddenly everything was tighter and harder and he was just starting to wonder if he needed to undo the zip after all when Connor gasped again and started to thrust. There wasn’t going to be time to adjust anything, and Stephen went with it, digging his fingers into the hip hard enough to leave bruises while his other hand dragged up the length of Connor’s cock and held it as Connor abruptly came.

            He continued to hold him while Connor shuddered, his eyes closed, and his body now a far more healthy temperature. Stephen planted a kiss on Connor’s open mouth before he finally let go and let Connor clean himself up.

            Stephen found a belt and as soon as Connor was done he slid it through the belt loops and tightened it, trying to make the trousers look in some vague way as though they fitted. Or, at least, so they didn’t look as though they were about to fall off. Although the latter image was one that Stephen wouldn’t mind in the slightest, and he couldn’t conceal his playful grin.

            Connor seemed to be making a move to reciprocate when a sudden yell startled both of them.

            “Stephen! Connor! What the hell’s taking so bloody long? We could use a hand over here.”

            Stephen took a moment to tuck Connor’s t-shirt back in, and adjust some of the extraneous pockets on his hips.

            “You look fine,” he reassured him, as he pushed Connor to get moving.

            As they headed over to where the iguanodon was still causing chaos, Stephen wondered idly what any of the others would think if they noticed where his belt had gone.        

Tags: connor/stephen, slash

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  • Fanfic: Memories

    Eek, my first fanfic since 2017, and it's for Ghosts, my latest tv obsession. I can't lie, I watched series 1 and knew I wanted to write about…

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